


I'm Sticking to You Like Glue

by peanutbutterapple



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American University AU, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Sickfic, a disgusting amount of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterapple/pseuds/peanutbutterapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cute. <i>Cute</i>, Louis had called him <i>cute</i>. Stitch it into his sweaters, carve it on his gravestone, quote it for generations to come, <i>Louis Tomlinson</i> had called him cute and suddenly the word tasted like sunshine and smelled like rainbows, glittered with the brightness of a thousand stars and burned with the life of a million galaxies.</p><p>This, without a doubt, had to be the moment his life had been leading up to all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sticking to You Like Glue

**Author's Note:**

> This would have been finished Halloween night but then Larry hugged and it put me into a coma for three weeks.

It was disappointing, but not at all Louis’ fault.

“This is shit,” he said, groaning into his pillows. “How could my body do this to me?”

He blinked up at Harry, tired and miserable, purple half-moons beneath his eyes despite having slept all day. With a sinking heart, Harry reached forward and pushed Louis’ damp hair from his forehead, still as hot and clammy as it was this morning.

“You’re only human, Lou,” he said, sliding his hand down to Louis’ flushed cheek. He was so warm. “And it’s cold season.”

“Is that what this is?” Louis said, leaning into Harry’s touch and looking up at him with wide eyes. “Just a cold? That means I can still go out tonight, right?”

Harry pulled his hand away and poked him in the cheek, gently. “No, babe. And no.”

Louis groaned again, sinking deeper into his pillows and closing his eyes. “But it’s _Halloween._ ”

Harry sat back up, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Lou.” It sucked, because Louis loved Halloween. He loved dressing up in ridiculous costumes and he loved to party and to get drunk and he loved eating copious amounts of candy.

Harry had learned this over a year prior, when, as the small, impressionable freshman Louis liked to call him (“I’m not small, Lou.” “Yes, you are.” “I’ve always been taller than you.” “False. You were tiny. You were a baby. Had a binkie in your mouth when your mom dropped you off at the dorms”), the two of them met when Harry moved in for his first year of college. Louis was his RA, and he lived just a few doors down.

Harry may have been a young, eager first year, but he knew not everyone was so lucky as to be blessed with an RA with eyes so blue, curves so lovely, smile so very radiant and personality so vibrant as Louis Tomlinson’s. If he stopped by Louis’ room every time he saw the door open, well, residents were _supposed_ to get to know their RA. And if he asked for advice he didn’t need, help on homework assignments he’d already completed, and made up a confrontation with his roommate just so he’d have an excuse to talk to Louis, _well_ , he was just taking fate into his own hands. And Niall never _actually_ got written up.

“Well obviously not,” Louis had said months later, flicking one of Harry’s curls. “I know he’s got Irish roots, but to actually believe he was getting drunk every night of the week while you were innocently trying to study? Please, Hazza, I could hear the two of you giggling over YouTube videos every time I walked past your door.” Louis looked at him. “ _Both_ of you tipsy as hell.”

Harry had blushed. “Was not.”

“Well, perhaps not,” Louis had said. “You do laugh like a hyena at fucking dumb cat videos, drunk or not.”

“Heeey,” Harry had said, pouting, and Louis smiled and pulled him closer, kissing his lips silent.

That had been just days after they’d finally gotten together, once Harry’s awkward dorm room visits quickly evolved into a whirlwind friendship turned romance by the following spring. It was bound to happen, seeing as all of Harry’s hallmates called him Louis’ “favorite” and his “accomplice” and “the reason quiet hours are so fucking loud.”

It was Halloween that had cemented their friendship. Harry had come by Louis’ room as the older boy was sprawled out on his bed with his arm draped over his face, having a crisis.

“Harry!” he’d said, not even bothering to open his eyes when he heard the footsteps at his door. “I’m having a crisis.”

Harry sat down on Louis’ desk chair, strewn with hoodies. “What for?”

“I don’t know what to be for Halloween,” Louis said. He sighed, long and suffering. “There’s going to be a massive party at Liam’s house, and I don’t have any idea what to be.”

Harry fell quiet for a moment, pensive. “Well,” he finally said, drawing out the word and looking up. “I was thinking of being a mermaid.”

Louis let his arm fall beside him. He looked around at Harry, eyebrows rising halfway up his forehead. His hair was sticking up in all directions and Harry didn’t even try not to stare.

“What the fuck, Harold?”

Harry blinked, looking away, embarrassed for the space of a second before he realized Louis wasn’t talking about the way he’d been staring.

“Oh,” he said, finding Louis’ gaze was still on him. “Well, merboy, I suppose.”

“Right. Thanks for clarifying,” Louis said. He sat up. He looked back at Harry. “But, I repeat, _what?_ ”

Harry shrugged. “I like nautical things.”

Louis was still looking at him funny, but a tiny smile came over his lips. “Of course you do.” He stood up from the bed, stretching his arms as he went, exposing his cute, lovely tummy that would have had Harry weak at the knees if he’d been standing. Louis reached over and patted Harry on the top of his head. “I think you’ve given me an idea, Curly. And if you help me, you might just get an invite to this very cool, very _exclusive_ upperclassmen Halloween party.”

Excitement swooped through Harry’s body, and he felt himself grinning, probably much too widely. “Can Niall come?”

They showed up to Liam Payne’s off campus house that weekend dressed as one merboy, one dead pirate, and one sailor-prince fisherman.

“I don’t understand,” Liam said, staring at Louis, once Louis had introduced all of them. Louis stood, crown adorning his head and dressed in sailor garb, holding a fishing pole in his right hand and a net in his left.

“Well first, young Harry inspired me with his seafaring costume idea, here,” Louis said, nodding at Harry, the lower half of his body clad in sequenced leggings he’d found at the mall that had inspired the whole costume, his torso nearly bare and a pearl tiara buried in his curls. “And I thought, a fisherman would be good, because it means I can do this-” He threw the net over Liam’s head.

“Hey!” Liam sputtered as Louis took his rod and latched the magnetized hook to the top of the beer can in Liam’s hand, snatching it out of his grasp. By the time Liam had untangled himself, his gelled Elvis hair a complete mess, Louis had downed the entire drink.

“What the hell, Louis?” Liam said, cheeks flushed.

“I know,” Louis said, glancing at Harry and winking. “Great idea, right? Well, the costume just didn’t feel complete, so Harry and I found this sailor suit because I didn’t really feel like wearing those rubber pants fishermen always wear, and besides, these white trousers fit my bum much better, don’t you think?”

Liam rolled his eyes, but Harry’s mind was a mantra of _yes, yes, yes_ , and had been since Louis had emerged from his room little more than an hour earlier. Harry thanked Poseidon for uniformed seafaring men.  

“And _then_ we just happened upon this crown,” Louis said, tapping the gold tinted plastic atop his head, emblazoned with little plastic jewels, “and I thought, why be a normal sailor when I could be a royal one?”

“I would expect no less of you,” Liam said dryly.

Louis grinned, pushing the empty beer can back into Liam’s hand. “Now you better not tell anyone that I’m about to break a million university rules and fish Harry here some alcohol,” he said, glancing around. Niall had disappeared somewhere into the crowd, halfway to drunk already, probably.

Liam looked back at Harry. “Wait- Harry? Not- oh! _That_ Harry?”

And Louis blushed. Harry saw him actually _blush_ with his own two eyes beneath the cheap kitchen lights. He shoved Liam away and grabbed Harry’s bare arm. “Come on.”

“What did he mean?” Harry said as Louis led him away, hand invitingly warm on his skin. “That Harry? Me?”

“It’s nothing,” Louis said quickly, leading him into the living room packed with students, music blaring through tinny speakers.

“Do you know other Harrys?” Harry asked, unable to let it go.

Louis glanced at him. “You’ve always got so many questions,” he said, and Harry felt a tiny pinch of embarrassment, a little bit of dread. But then Louis shook his head. “No, you’re the only Harry I know.”

Hope refilled itself. Liam had to be talking about him, then. But what did he _mean_?

He didn’t push the subject further, however, especially not after Louis fished him two cans of beer and three very fruity mixed drinks Harry felt complemented his costume much better.

“I can’t believe you insisted on wearing this,” Louis said over the music, a bit later. He poked at the set of seashells set over Harry’s chest. “Pretty sure merboys don’t need these.”

“I like seashells,” Harry said. They were pink and they sparkled and they were pretty. “They make me feel more…mer-ish.”

Louis looked at him, but he was smiling and he looked _fond_ and Harry felt like a million sparks of electricity were being generated straight to his heart.

That was the night, then, that had truly cemented their friendship. When Harry inspired Louis to be a sailor-prince fisherman and Louis had illegally fished Harry more alcohol than he knew how to drink. They stuck to each other like sea urchins throughout the whole party, and by the end of the night Harry found himself with Louis’ crown gleaming atop his curls, and Louis had his pearl tiara perched over his own head and Harry’s shell bra draped around his neck (both fished off of him), cheeks glowing and eyes glassy with inebriated joy and looking at _Harry, Harry, Harry._

A severe contrast to how Louis looked now, stuck in bed, cheeks flushed with fever and the whites of his eyes red with misery and exhaustion. But at least he was still looking at Harry.

“This sucks,” Louis said, crossing his arms over his blanket and looking so pouty and sad Harry wanted to kiss him and snuggle him until he was better. He settled for patting his arm.

“Hey,” he said, “how about I make you soup and we watch a scary movie?”

Louis’ gaze slid to his. “You’re not going out?”

Harry frowned. “Why would I go out when you’re stuck here?”

Louis stared for the space of a second before he unfolded his arms, sliding his hand over and gripping Harry’s thumb, like he was some kind of newborn baby. “Soup sounds good.”

Harry leaned forward and placed a light kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be back.”

Harry stood up and walked out to the kitchen, where he had five different kinds of soup waiting on the table. He’d gone out earlier when Louis had been asleep and retrieved all the essentials.

Harry pulled a pot out from the cabinet, nice and organized from how he’d left it the last time he’d cooked here. It baffled him that Louis and his housemates had a perfectly good kitchen of their own and yet they so rarely used it.

“That’s what we’ve got you for,” Liam had said to Harry one night, when Harry had come over with all the ingredients to make pizza.

“I wouldn’t be here so much if the dorms didn’t have such crappy kitchens,” Harry said.

“Yes you would be,” Louis’ other housemate, Zayn, said, not even bothering to look up from his English homework.

Louis had grinned, entirely too bright. “It’s only a rite of passage, Harold, having to live with those cesspool kitchens before you graduate to a kitchen of your very own, with a boyfriend to cook in it.”

“A boyfriend to cook in it,” Harry mused. “Wonder when I’ll meet him.”

Louis flicked a bit of peperoni at his face. Harry kissed him on the side of the mouth and cooked three of the most delicious pizzas any of those boys had ever had.

Harry poured a can of chicken noodle into the pot and set it on the burner, turning the heat to medium. Louis had given up dorm and RA life for his final year of college, opting to move in with Liam and Zayn instead. It was nice, for Harry at least, to have a place to escape to that wasn’t crawling with students, even if Louis wasn’t just a few doors away.

Harry heard the door to Louis’ room creak open and the boy himself appeared, wrapped in three blankets, hair awry.

“Baby,” Harry said, turning from the stove. “I would have carried you to the couch.”

“I still have legs that work perfectly fine, thank you,” Louis said, but he fell right into Harry’s arms as soon as he reached him, blankets falling from around his shoulders. “Gotta lay back down,” he muttered.

“Come on, then,” Harry said, putting his hands on Louis’ waist and steering him towards the next room.

“Pick a real scary movie,” Louis said as he fell back on the couch and Harry tucked his blankets around him. “Not one of your crap nice guy ones. Or those artsy ones. Especially not the artsy ones. It’s Halloween, and if I can’t go out I at least deserved to be scared.”

“I will,” Harry assured him, kissing his hair. “Just let me go get your soup first, it’s probably done.”

The soup was boiling on the stove when Harry walked back into the kitchen. Harry ran through all the scary movies he knew of in his mind as he dished it into a bowl.

“Lou, I’m gonna pull up Netflix so we can-” Harry paused in the doorway, bowl of soup warm in his hand, because Louis lay where Harry left him on the couch, fast asleep again, eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks.

Harry was dating an angel, he decided. A very sick, very tired angel. Harry smiled to himself as he flipped the light off and went back into the kitchen to save the soup for him when he woke up later. Hopefully Louis would have a very scary dream, at the very least.

 

*

 

They had only been dating about six months, and when they had finally gotten together, it had been all wrong.

It had become excruciating, by the spring, to spend time with Louis, to hang out with him on weekends and study with him on weekdays, to get lunch and dinner and midnight pizza (breakfast didn’t exist in Louis’ schedule, too early), to simply be _around_ him and feel so much, and still only be his friend.

Harry knew how obvious he was. He didn’t even bother hiding his feelings as the year dwindled down, in the hopes that Louis might decide to do something about them. Because Louis felt the same. He _had_ to feel the same.

Except just when Harry thought he might say something, just when he’d let Harry hold his hand a little too long, after he’d fallen asleep on Harry during a movie or waxed poetic to him after a drunken night out, after he’d touched Harry’s hair and his face and set his skin and his body and his soul on fire- he pulled away. There was a block, something stopping him, and it was driving Harry positively insane.

The thing was, there were only two weeks left of term before the summer, and Harry couldn’t stand the thought of going home and not seeing Louis every day, not talking to him, of letting his feelings fester for weeks and weeks and weeks before they returned for school in the fall, which may as well be _eons_ away.

And so, Harry had been drunk.

It started after a party, their second to last weekend at school, Harry and Niall and a couple of their other friends, and it was fun, it was, but all Harry could think about as the night went on was _why isn’t Louis here?_

The first, obvious, answer was that Louis hadn’t even been invited, didn’t generally join Harry when he went out with his other friends. The second answer was that finals were approaching very fast, and Louis had chosen to be responsible that weekend and study for once.

Harry would always blame Niall for not shoving him right into his bed when they got back to their dorm at three in the morning.

“I’m going to visit Louis,” Harry had declared as Niall drunkenly fumbled with the key to their door. 

“Okay,” Niall said as the key slid into place. He _should_ have told Harry that was the _fucking dumb idea_ like a good, responsible friend, but instead he just smiled at Harry, eyes glassy and out of focus. Everything around Harry swayed slightly; it was very pleasant.

A moment later Harry found himself standing in front of Louis’ door, his name handwritten on one of his very own door decks. Harry stared at the letters until they blurred together, a name that played like music in his mind.

“Harry?”

Louis’ voice was groggy and his eyes were squinty, obviously having been asleep, and Harry, Harry had _woken him up_.

“Louis, Lou, I’m sorry,” Harry said, practically falling into Louis’ arms, wrought with guilt. He’d woken him up! When he needed his sleep for exams! “I’m _sorry!_ ”

Louis reached around him, warm hands snaking around Harry’s waist and holding him by the hips, fingers gentle. Harry couldn’t help but shiver. “Haz, what are you talking about?” he said, voice heavy, still half asleep. “What’s wrong?”

“I woke you up,” Harry said, hands on Louis’ chest. A chest that held a beating heart inside it, a heart Harry longed for, the heart he’d grown to love so much. Right beneath his fingertips.

Louis chuckled, blinking in the light as his eyes adjusted. “That’s alright, Harry.”

Harry. _Harry Harry Harry._ Louis could say his name all day and Harry wouldn’t tire of it, not ever.

Louis looked up at him, eyes still puffy from sleep but a spark in his blue eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Missed you,” Harry said, feeling his voice going soft. “The night wasn’t as fun without you.”

Louis laughed again and reached up to tug on a lock of Harry’s hair, eyes crinkling around the edges. “You sure about that?”

Harry nodded, feeling the slightest bit hurt. Of _course_ the night wasn’t as fun without Louis. Why was he laughing, then? He felt a bit stupid, all of the sudden. Louis probably hadn’t given _him_ a thought all night.

“Hey, hey, what’s the frown for?” Louis said, brows furrowing. He brought his hands up to cup Harry’s jaw, kind of like Harry’s mother used to do when he was a kid and wanted to get him to look her in the eyes.

“You laughed at me,” Harry said, and he _felt_ like a child.

Louis’ expression melted, and something so inexplicably soft entered his gaze Harry’s heart skipped five beats. “Because- _fuck,_ Harry,” he said it softly, with passion, looking at Harry’s eyes. “It’s three in the morning and you’re drunk as hell on my doorstep saying you’ve missed me tonight.”

Oh god, that made Harry sound _pathetic._ “I sound pathetic,” Harry said.

Louis’ lips quirked up in a tiny smile, eyes flicking back and forth between Harry’s. So blue and lovely even in the florescent hallway lights. His hands were still on Harry’s face, and Harry wanted to turn his head, kiss his fingers.

“Not pathetic,” Louis said softly. “Cute.”

Harry’s mind short circuited.

Cute. _Cute,_ Louis had called him _cute._ Stitch it into his sweaters, carve it on his gravestone, quote it for generations to come, _Louis Tomlinson_ had called him cute and suddenly the word tasted like sunshine and smelled like rainbows, glittered with the brightness of a thousand stars and burned with the life of a million galaxies.

This, without a doubt, had to be the moment his life had been leading up to all along.

Without even thinking, Harry leaned right in and kissed him.

Louis’ hands were still on his face, lips so warm and sweet, slow with sleep and lovelier than Harry had ever imagined they could be. They were perfect, so perfect, they were-

Harry opened his eyes, lips and face met with nothing but cold, empty air. Louis had pulled away. He was staring at Harry, eyes wide, a step back farther than he was before, and he had pulled away.

Mortification flooded Harry, washing over him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and he suddenly had the very strong, very sudden urge to disappear, to cease to exist.

Louis had pulled away. Was looking at him in _horror._

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Harry muttered. He looked away, cheeks flaming. “I’ve got to go.”

He fled, sprinted down the hallway and nearly tripped over his own feet, ground swaying beneath him. Everything was cold and awful, and he needed to get to his room, to disappear beneath his blankets for the rest of eternity, or perhaps cry on Niall’s shoulder if he was still awake. 

“Wait- Harry!” he heard Louis call down the hall, not even bothering to whisper. But Harry didn’t stop, simply could not look back and see the sympathy on Louis’ face.

Niall hadn’t locked their door, Lord bless him, and Harry slipped inside their room to find said boy passed out on his bed, hugging his pillow to his head and body sprawled out on top of his blankets in nothing but a pair of pajama pants. Harry didn’t even bother to change, just slipped his shoes off and crawled into his bed. The sheets were cold against his skin and he hugged his arms around his midsection, because surely this is what an exorcism felt like, this sting of rejection, hope being utterly forced from the body.

A soft knock sounded from the other side of his door a moment later, and Harry’s heart froze in his chest, but he didn’t move. Another knock, and then a third, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to have to relive that look on Louis’ face.

And if he cried into his pillow before he drifted to sleep, it was because he was _drunk._ All of it was the alcohol, he decided, and he was never going to drink again.

 

 *

 

When Harry awoke the next morning the first thing he felt was the pain of his headache. It took a few unappreciated moments of ignorance before the night before came back to him and he remembered why he was still dressed in his clothes.

He wished he was one of those drunks who forgot everything. Or maybe he just never drank enough. Maybe he’d have to.

“Harry,” Niall’s throaty voice came from the bed across the room. “Your phone’s been ringing all damn morning, fucking _answer_ it already.”

Harry hadn’t even realized it had been his phone that had woken him up, pressed against the side of his leg, still in his pants pocket. He’d set it on vibrate _and_ ring the night before while at the party, and it buzzed and jingled beneath his sheets. It took him a minute to fish it out.

 _Louis_ , the screen read.

Harry ended the call.

It only took the space of a few seconds for it to begin ringing again, and Niall groaned before Harry ended the call a second time, setting both ringer and vibrate on silent before just turning his phone off altogether and rolling over. His head was pounding and it was too fucking early to face his mistakes.

 

*

 

When Louis finally found him, his eyes were closed and he was sprawled out on the grass beneath a very bright blue sky, not a cloud to be seen.

Harry could tell it was him when he heard the footsteps approaching through the grass, knew the very rhythm of his walk. His plan of hiding in plain sight had failed, quite obviously. He knew he should have stayed locked in his room.

The footsteps stopped right next to his head.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Louis’ voice said, and even though Harry fully expected it, a shiver still ran through his heart.

Harry took a breath, eyes still closed. “Trying to get a sunburn.”

“Why?” Louis demanded. He probably had his hands on his hips.

Harry felt his insides deflate. No use in hiding it now, he supposed. “So the pain’ll distract me.”

A pause. When Louis spoke, his voice was a touch softer. “Distract you from what?”

From the way he’d kissed Louis and Louis had pulled away. From the look of utter horror on his face. From the humiliation that thrumbed through Harry’s limbs every waking moment. From how he just couldn’t take a fucking hint by all the ways Louis had evaded him before. From the way he’d ruined their entire friendship probably.

From the fact that Louis didn’t want him back.

Harry shrugged, still hidden behind his eyelids. “Thoughts,” he said.

Louis heaved a long sigh. Like _he_ was the one suffering. Harry heard him plop down onto the grass beside him, and he was finally about to open his eyes when Louis said, “You, Harry Styles, are a melodramatic dumbass.”

A shadow over his eyes. And then there were lips. Lips on Harry’s lips. _Louis’_ lips on Harry’s lips, and when his eyes sprang Louis was still there, Harry’s eyes couldn’t even focus properly for how close Louis’ face was, _kissing him_.

And then his lips were gone, but he hadn’t pulled away. Louis stayed, hovering over Harry’s face, blue eyes so close Harry felt as if he was looking out to sea. His mind was fuzzy, muddled and elated.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Louis said quietly, and Harry could feel his breath against his lips, feel the vibration of his voice. “You caught me by surprise, Harry, but I didn’t- you thought I didn’t want it, didn’t you?”

Harry blinked.

“You’ve been hiding from me all day,” Louis went on when Harry didn’t say anything. “I know that’s what you’ve thought, which is why I’ve been trying to findyou so I could explain. For hours, you evasive dick.” He pinched Harry in the side. Harry yelped, but Louis took the opportunity to drown him out by leaning in again.

Louis was kissing him, _a second time,_ and Harry felt as if he could melt right into the grass, become part of the soil and grow into the most beautiful tree. Pink flowers would blossom from his branches and young lovers would discover one another beneath him.

Or he could stay how he was, and he could keep kissing Louis. That sounded a lot better, actually.

“So…you weren’t upset?” Harry said breathlessly, finally finding his voice when Louis pulled away again.

“Of course not,” Louis said, leaning back just slightly so the sky shone behind him. “ _Harry_. I was half asleep and you were drunk in my doorway and suddenly you were kissing me and it _wasn’t_ a dream.” He gazed down at him, sounding almost pained.

“And that’s- good?” Harry said. His mind was still fuzzy, mind a million thoughts a minute and his lips still tingling from Louis’ kiss.

“I just spent the last five minutes kissing you,” Louis said dryly. “You tell me.”

Harry felt a tiny smile grow on his face, evolving into a grin so wide it nearly hurt. His lungs were about to burst in his chest because _Louis felt the same._

“Stop being so fucking adorable,” Louis said, and wow, he _did_ sound pained, looking at Harry as if he smile was a personal insult and also perhaps the best thing he’d ever seen. Adorable, Louis had called him adorable and he was kissing him and Harry was losing track what was supposed to be the best moment of his life.

When they pulled away again because Harry was sure his chest might explode if he didn’t take a moment to catch his breath, Louis buried is face in Harry’s neck and sighed a long, dramatic, “ _Fuck.”_

Harry laughed and rubbed a hand along Louis’ back. The sky above him was a thousand shades more blue with this boy in his arms.

“Just,” Harry said because _damnit_ it wasn’t the time for niggling thoughts, but he had to ask. “Why’d you always pull away before?”

Louis lifted his chin and looked up at him. “What?”

“All these weeks,” Harry said. Months. “I was always…I was so obvious, Lou, but you always pulled away. I thought you didn’t…”

Louis bit his lip and looked away, and Harry felt a shot of fear. Here it was, the moment when Louis would tell him this was all too good to be true.

“You were just- _young_ , Harry,” Louis said, looking back up at him. “You were a freshman and I was a junior, and your _RA_. It felt…I wasn’t sure if it was right. I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Sure you could,” Harry said without thinking.

Louis let his forehead fall against Harry’s chest, warm against the fabric. _“Harry.”_

“Sorry,” Harry said. “But it’s true.” Well, it was.

“You don’t think that’s a bit strange?” Louis lifted his head again, slightly.

“No,” Harry said.

Louis sighed, but his lips began to curve upward. He looked down at himself, as if surprised to find that he was still in Harry’s arms. “Well, too late now.”

“Yes,” Harry said, tightening his arms around Louis. God. He had Louis _in his arms._

Louis narrowed his eyes. “Stop looking so smug,” he said. Harry felt himself smile wider, unable to help himself. Louis poked him in the chest, a tiny smile giving away his faux annoyance.  “You’re glowing.”

Harry smiled harder. How could he stop? How could he possibly ever stop, now that he was here? “I knew it,” Harry said, because, yes, he was smug. “I knew you liked me.”

Louis blushed, tiny pink blotches on the tips of his cheeks. “Shut your stupid mouth,” he said and, oh god, Harry loved him so much.

So Harry obeyed him by kissing him, closed mouth and sweet, because that was really a much better use for both of their mouths anyway. The sun fell lower into the sky as the afternoon slid away around them, and they melted from the world and into one another.

  

*

 

It was nearly midnight when Louis woke up again.

“You let me sleep through the movie? What did you even watch? I bet it wasn’t even scary, was it? What fucking day is it?”

Louis sat up, reached out blindly to where Harry had sprawled himself out on the floor with his laptop, playing games online.

Harry yawned and pushed himself up from the carpet. “You needed to rest, I didn’t watch anything, and it’s still Halloween,” he glanced at his watch, “for another twenty five minutes.”

Louis groaned, falling back on the couch cushions, cheeks still flushed. “I can’t believe you let me sleep through Halloween.”

“You’re ill,” Harry said, closing his laptop. “Are you hungry?”

“Maybe,” Louis muttered into the cushion.

Harry reached out and ruffled his hair. He was still so warm. “I’ll bring you that soup.”

Harry shuffled into the kitchen, fully intending to bring the soup back out to Louis, but he turned around when he heard the scrape of one of the kitchen chairs being pulled out from the table.

“Feeling better,” Louis said, sitting down and running a hand over his face. His eyes were puffy and he still managed to look exhausted after so much sleep. “Can walk and sit up now, like a functioning human, almost.”

“Damn, in that case, we definitely should have gone out and partied,” Harry said, biting his smile back as Louis sent him a dirty look that wouldn’t have offended a puppy. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Louis fell quiet as Harry turned back around and remade the soup, heating it back up on the stove and carefully pouring it into a new bowl. He rummaged around for a spoon before bringing it to the table, careful not to spill.

“Thanks, Haz,” Louis said, voice still sleepy. Harry merely smiled at him and kissed the top of his head before going to clean up the stove to the clink of Louis’ spoon against his bowl.

When he turned back around, oven, counter, and pan spotless, Louis was nearly finished with his soup. Harry caught him mid yawn, rubbing his eyes and looking so much like a sleepy kitten Harry felt as if his heart was physically expanding inside his chest.

Harry opened his mouth to comment, tease him on still being tired after sleeping through the entire evening when Louis met his gaze, eyes and cheeks red and puffy and sweet, long eyelashes clumped together in the yellow kitchen light. A lethargic smile came over his face, dozy and beautiful.

“I love you.”

Harry froze, standing in the middle of the kitchen. 

They had never said that to one another, neither of them, and they’d only been dating a few months anyway, but- hearing it come out of Louis’ mouth, standing in the middle of the kitchen in his socks and his hands empty by his sides, every cell in Harry’s body seemed to alight with the flame of a million beautiful suns.

Louis’ looked caught, startled, eyes widening as realization of what he just said came over his face.

“I- I mean,” he started, finding his voice before Harry could. “Thank you, Harry, for- doing all of this for me when I’ve been such a little brat all day.” His face was flushed red down the roots of his hair, and he didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “You’re wonderful, you’re so- you’re _too_ good to me.”

Harry unfroze, enough fire in his heart to keep him alive for the next thousand years, looking at Louis, because _that_ was certainly not true. He crossed the floor in about half a second’s time, until he was standing right beside Louis’ chair.

Louis looked up at him with uncertain eyes, fingernails digging into the edge of the table. “Um, yeah, so-”

Louis broke off when Harry plastered himself to his side, wrapping his arms around his small sick body and squishing Louis’ head right into his chest, hugging him so tightly his arms would probably sore from the exertion the next morning.

Louis had to be able to hear his heart beating, to be able to feel it through his sweater, through his skin, because the love he felt for this boy was this living, breathing entity inside of Harry.

Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of Louis’ head, kissing and kissing it before burying his face into hair, soft against his cheeks, his eyelids.

He felt Louis physically relax in his arms, and after a moment, his arms snaked around Harry’s sides and he hugged him back.

“Okay, good,” Louis muttered after a moment, voice muffled by Harry’s sweater.

“Good?” Harry said into his hair.

“I mean,” Louis said, pulling back just slightly. “I didn’t think, I dunno, you _wouldn’t_ like me to say that, well, I thought you would actually quite like it, probably, but I mean, we’ve only been together a few months and I didn’t want to go too fast- or- or get too serious-”

“Louis,” Harry cut him off, voice thick as he lifted his face from Louis’ hair. “I’m not afraid.”

Louis smirked, but the tips of his cheeks turned pink. “Not a very good Halloween prank, then?”

“Shut _up,_ ” Harry said, shoving him away. He pulled him back and his eyes fell to his lips. “I want to kiss you.”

Louis frowned. “You can’t.”

Harry pouted and Louis smiled again. He reached up and poked him in the cheek. “I’ll infect you. And then you’ll be sick and then we won’t be able to kiss for even _longer_. And of course you know I won’t be able to hold out that long and end up kissing you anyway and we’ll be stuck in an endless loop of illness and no kisses.”

Harry pouted again. Louis nudged his forehead into his sweater. “Go eat some candy instead.”

“Not as sweet as kissing you,” Harry said.

Louis made a face. “Too corny, I want a divorce.” He started to pull away, but Harry pulled him back in against him.

“You do not. You love me.”

Louis melted back into him. “I do,” he said softly.

“I love you too, of course,” Harry said. He had since he’d met him, really.

Louis reached up and found Harry’s hand, holding it tightly in his own before he brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips to each one of Harry’s fingertips. Then he reached up and brought Harry’s head down by the back of his neck, pressing a kiss right on top of his curly head and holding him there, pressing his cheek into his hair.

Harry would swear that all of the world’s warmth was being harnessed inside him.

Louis let go of him and squeezed his hand, looked up at him with the brightest eyes Harry had ever seen. “Happy Halloween, babe.”

“Not so bad, then?” Harry said, feeling out of breath, almost.

“Not so bad,” Louis said, smiling. “For some, this conversation might even be considered scary.”

Harry felt himself grin. “Terrifying.”

“Downright spooky.”

“Not for us, though.”

“No,” Louis said, sliding their fingers together, grasp solid and warm and unafraid to let go. “Not for us.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a tiny writing prompt I saw on tumblr, "things said at the kitchen table" or some such, and it was only meant to be like 2 paragraphs, but.


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